


driving in cars with boys (drinking in the white noise)

by kokuchim



Series: Yamamoto owns an Impala AU [1]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 01:21:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1800238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kokuchim/pseuds/kokuchim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It would seem that life decided all the important landmarks in the relationship that isn't but will be Hayato and Takeshi happen inside a certain baseball idiot's Navy Blue Impala.</p>
            </blockquote>





	driving in cars with boys (drinking in the white noise)

**Author's Note:**

> The premise of this series is that Yamamoto owns an Impala, suffers from copious amount of teenage angst and is in love with an Italian boy. It's basically a collection of snippets centered around another AU!fic I'm currently writing.

 

(1)

You are in a car with a beautiful boy and you're trying your best not to grope him.

It’s hot, it’s summer, the windows are rolled down and the sun is beating down heavily on your fingers holding the steering wheel. There’s a large open road ahead of you, Texas Desert.

You look to your right and you can see the beads of sweat rolling down Hayato’s forehead, pooling in the junction between his clavicles. It had a name, you recall, fossa something—Hayato moans. It sends blood pooling down to your pants.

“Tell me again, how the fuck we arrived in Las Vegas from Orange County again?”

Hayato pinches the bridge of his nose, still nursing a hangover.

“Maa, Maa…Bianchi suddenly decided to have a shotgun wedding remember?” you say amicably.

He lights a cigarette.

There is a box full of condoms and lingerie in the backseat given by Hayato’s sister in jest (He _says._ You think she really wants you to use it, bless that woman). Your forehead itches, the radio station is playing some song in English you think used to be hell of a lot popular in the past and you’re watching Hayato curl his lips around his cigarette, cheeks hollowing out as he inhales—you take a deep breath.

Your grandmother’s underwear.

Hayato’s sultry, green, green eyes.

Mama Lussuria in Drag.

Hayato’s waist.

Squalo built like a body-builder on steroids.

Hayato whispering curses in the shell of your ear.

 Pops telling you about the birds and the bees—

Hayato straddling your hips as he removes your flannel shirt.

Hayato in Victoria’s Secret Lingerie.

 Hayato’s grinding against you. Hayato’s lips around your cock. Hayato’s head thrown back, clutching your shoulders in vice-like grip, gasping and moaning as you fuck him on the backseat—

 Your vision clouds and you’re hard as fuck. You feel _ashamed_.

You step on the gas.

He’s probably noticed the bulge in your pants. Fuck. _Fuck_. After everything you’ve done. After all the progress you’ve made.

You spare him a sidelong glance. He isn’t looking. His head lolled to the side, mouth parted, cigarette forgotten, dangling between his fingers.

He doesn't know. 

He's hasn't noticed.

He's fast asleep.

You’re safe.

**Author's Note:**

> Takeshi is such a frustrated, honest boy. You kinda wish 'Dera would finally just admit to his feelings (but then I don't think I can write a story without a lot of suffering and angst).


End file.
